


Lightweight

by binary_hazard



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binary_hazard/pseuds/binary_hazard
Summary: Ellis, despite himself, was a total lightweight and couldn't hold his liquor for shit. 
Or, Ellis spills a few secrets under the influence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of Ellis feelings, OK.
> 
> Also, I finally got the balls to post something here. (dances)

Ellis, despite himself, was a total lightweight and couldn't hold his liquor for shit. 

Any more than two bottles of regular beer and he was smashed. A shot of something strong would get him good and tipsy in under five minutes. 

People always figured that a guy like Ellis would be able to drink a whole carton of beer and still be standing at the end of it. At first glance, Ellis seemed like the stereotypical redneck. His thick southern accent, his way of speaking, his mannerisms, his clothes, his love of guns. It all checked out. All but his inability to drink alcohol. So when they found out, he was usually met with jeers and giggles and _"what sort of man are you?"_.

Ellis didn't know why he couldn't drink a corona with his buddies without getting drunk. Both of his parents could put away copious amounts of liquor and not feel it for hours. But not him. No, all he could drink was cider and wine coolers without fear of blacking out. On a good day, he could polish off a bottle or two of lite beer, but sometimes even that had him stumbling over his own feet in no time. 

Before the outbreak, it was hell going to bars and parties with alcohol. Post outbreak, it was the most fun he'd ever had in a pool room. 

No one was forcing him to have a drink. No one was teasing him when he started slurring. No one was laughing at him when he went to the bathroom to vomit after only two shots. Instead, he was caving in some poor girl's skull with an axe while he whistled along to the song playing on the jukebox. 

Ellis hummed happily as he pulled the blade out of the zombie's head before swinging around to kill another. He was absolutely surrounded by them, positively _swamped_ , but his mood seemed to get even better at the realisation. 

"Yeah, I love the smell of dead zombies in the mornin'!" Ellis shouted as he buried the axe into a dead waitress' throat, her rancid blood jetting out of the wound and covering his face. He grinned and let out a small whoop of joy when her head toppled off of her shoulders. 

He could see Nick scowling at him from his post a few yards away but he just winked at the older man. 

Nothing would ruin his high. 

Nothing but Rochelle and Coach lugging a case of Heineken's into the safe house, that is. 

After they'd cleared out the pub and killed a special infected or two without any major mishaps, the duo had claimed the alcohol as their trophy for a job well done. Ellis couldn't deny them this small luxury just because he didn't enjoy it, so he kept his mouth shut and tried to hide his dread by launching into another of his anecdotes. 

It wasn't long until Rochelle was handing around the lukewarm beer and one was placed in his trembling hands. 

"D-did I ever tell you guys about that one time Keith and I made fireworks?" Ellis asked quickly, his voice pitched and his words coming out in a jumble. 

"You did, sweetie," Rochelle answered. "Why don't you have a beer? You did a good." 

He nodded sheepishly, squeaked out a "yes ma'am" and popped the lid off with his pocket knife. He stared at beer for a few seconds, gulping down the lump of anxiety lodged in this throat before he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig. 

It tasted terrible. 

\---

Something was up with Ellis. 

The kid was open, more open than most, so Nick could read him like a children's book. It wasn't hard to see that Ellis was nervous from the constant stream of rushed chatter and the way he kept fidgeting. His hands wouldn't stay still, fingers picking at the label on the half empty bottle he held and tapping out dull tunes against the glass with the pads of his fingers. 

Nick dismissed it. The kid wasn't his responsibility. 

The conman swallowed down a mouthful of tepid beer, smacking his lips and sighing. It'd been too long since he'd had one of these. It didn't matter that it was hot and tasted like ass, it was beer. He didn't think he'd ever get a chance to experience that buzz again. Nick closes his eyes and basked it in for a while, ignoring the din of the other survivors laughing and chatting away. 

When he opened his eyes, Coach and Rochelle were on their third and fourth beers, respectively. The two were sitting on a rotten yellow couch that'd been dragged into the safe room by previous survivors, leaning on each other and chuckling softly. Ellis was sitting on a wooden crate with his beer in one hand while the other gestured along madly as he went off about his buddy Keith again, voice slurred and a dopey smile on his face. Nick also noticed that his trucker's cap was on backwards, sandy hair sticking out from under the it ridiculously.

"Hey, Killer! How many have you put away?" Nick called out, an amused frown on his face. 

When Ellis' unfocused eyes found his, his smile widened mischievously and he tittered softly into the back of his hand. When the kid put up two fingers, Nick looked over at Rochelle in confusion.

"He's not serious, right?" 

Coach let out a booming laugh, his and Rochelle's bodies shaking with the intensity of it. "The boy's a lightweight!" The older man supplied between fits of giggles, his eyes watering and face flushing slightly. "I ain't never seen a sprout like him so bad with alcohol!"

"Hey, I ain't that bad," Ellis slurred. "I just ain't used to anythin' but cider n' wine coolers." 

Coach's guffaws became untameable at the kid's admission. Nick couldn't help but snicker at Ellis when he pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, looking much like a disgruntled toddler. Rochelle, being the responsible adult she was, tried to comfort Ellis but she, too, ended up snorting when he muttered a "'M not tipsy" before hiccuping loudly.

"Yo, Ellis! Why don't you tell us a story?" Coach panted, breathing deeply in an attempt to quell the loud giggles that shook his large frame. Ellis' face lit up like a christmas tree on fire, green eyes bright and alive with unbidden glee. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah, young'un!" Rochelle encouraged, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Tell us a story!"

Ellis leaned forward and gave the group of survivors a cheeky smile, beckoning them to join him in his secretive circle with a wriggle of his index finger. Nick indulged him and moved in closer, smirking when the kid almost fell off of the crate he was perched on. 

"Well, I was savin' this one for a special 'ccasion but I'll ya anyways," Ellis whispered, licking his lips and eyes darting around to each one of them before he continued. "Did I ever tell y'all about Jimmy? No? Well, he was this really fine lookin' guy back in my high school. He was one o' them sportin' types with the cheerleader girlfriends and the cool cars. Anyway, I don't think he liked me much at all. I dunno why, maybe 'cause I wasn't very popular or good lookin', but that was OK, I liked 'im plenty 'nough for the both o' us! Too bad he'd've beaten me blue if I asked 'im out or somethin'." 

Ellis was looking down sombrely at the rug by the end of it, eyes looking suspiciously wet while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and let out a soft little giggle. "That wasn't a problem neither since I was too pussy to ask 'im anyways." 

The room was quiet after that. The happy atmosphere had become thick with something heavy and cloying, choking out what little joy the scavenged alcohol had created in their safe house. Not even Coach was smiling anymore. 

Nick smirked, laughter bubbling in his voice. "Ellis, are you gay?" 

That snapped Ellis out of his stupor in an instant, wry smile falling off of his face and shoulders tensing. He looked like a deer caught in a set of headlights.

"Nick!" Rochelle hissed. "Have some tact would you?" 

The conman shot the woman an annoyed glare before he spat out a harsh, "What? I was just asking!" 

Nick could see the exact moment Rochelle's vexation turned to anger from the way her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together into a hard line. She looked like she was about to unload a magazine from her AK-47 into his head before a quiet, almost inaudible whimper broke the heavy silence. They all turned to look at Ellis, bickering long forgotten. 

Ellis was crying. 

The southerner was hunched over himself with his hands furiously wiping away the hot tears that rolled down his cheeks, body shaking with half-stifled sobs. His face flushed red in mortification when he realised they were all looking at him and tried to stop his incessant crying, but they just seemed to get louder. He sniffled and let out a small, wet laugh, a grimace twisting his lips. When he looked up at them, Nick felt something akin to guilt festering inside him like a tumour. His stomach was hot and heavy with it, the uncomfortable burn in his bowels making him feel worse.

Ellis rubbed at his eyes as he swore beneath his breath, berating himself harshly. Nick could see Rochelle slowly getting up off of the couch and approaching Ellis like he was a flighty forest animal. When Ellis saw this, his plight to stop crying was redoubled and he tried to assure her he was OK. From the way her lips thinned and her eyebrows furrowed with worry, he wasn't doing a very good job. "It's-- it's OK, Ro. I'm just a real bad drunk 'sall."

Rochelle gave him a kind smile and grabbed one of his hands, making the boy jump. "What's wrong, sweetie?" she cooed, voice soft and sweet as to not set him off. Nick likened the situation to Rochelle trying to calm down an irritated Witch and snorted at the mental image. Could men even become Witches? 

Nick's train of thought was derailed when Coach gave him a stern look, black eyes boring into him and practically screaming a silent _boy, Imma whoop your ass if you don't shut it_. The conman rolled his eyes but he stopped his quiet snickering nonetheless. The burning in the pit of his stomach increased tenfold when he looked over at Ellis to see his wet green eyes staring at him with hurt. 

"Nick's right," the southerner started, ducking his head to stare at his shoes while his shoulders slumped, visibly deflating. "'M one o' them--" Ellis gestured violently with his free hand, unable to say it, to confirm it verbally to the survivors. Rochelle grabbed his other hand in hers, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on his skin while he tried to breathe around the lump in his throat.

"Keith'd've hated me if I'd told 'im, y'know?" Ellis' voice broke around his friend's name, mouth twisting into a pained grimace. "Ma n' Pa, too. They didn't take kindly to folk like that, so I couldn't tell them neither. But I'm guessing that ain't a problem no more considerin' they're probably dead."

"Hey now! Young'un, don't you dare get all pessimistic on me like grumpy pants over there," Rochelle motioned to Nick with a tilt of her head, the corners of her lips quirking up into a gentle smile when Ellis huffed out a laugh. Nick snorted, but didn't say anything more. 

Before Rochelle could finish her little pep talk, something like dread crossed Ellis' face and he quickly pulled away from the woman, eyes wide with fear. He shot up out of his seat, almost falling over in his haste to put some space between himself and Ro. He stumbled backwards, his back meeting the wall.

"Ah, piss!" Ellis exclaimed, his voice thick and pitched a few octaves too high. Nick would've laughed at how high his voice went and paid him out about the girly little whimper he made when his hands hit the wall if he weren't crying. "Now y'all gonna hate me, too!"

The conman's eyebrows hiked up at that.

"Ellis, do you seriously think we'd hate you over liking dicks over chicks? Is your opinion of us that low?" Nick couldn't help but butt in, seeing as Rochelle's babying wasn't helping anyone at this point. The woman scowled at him over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open and ready to tear him a new one. "What? It's not like I'm asking him if he pitches or receives!"

Nick noticed Ellis flinch out of the corner of his eye and immediately regretted it. Damn kid making him feel guilty over nothing.

"'Snot outta disrespect or nothin', Nick," the southerner muttered dejectedly. "It ain't often you come 'cross folk that don't care. 'Specially in Georgia."

"He's got you there, Nicholas," Coach added solemnly. "Georgia ain't too kind to folk that aren't them." Coach pulled himself off of the couch and moved to crouch in front of Ellis. The latter looked down at the man with apprehension, eyes wide and Adam's apple bobbling in his throat. He looked like he wanted to say something but he couldn't quite get it out, mouth working uselessly and eyebrows pinching together in frustration. "Now, boy, I understand why you're scared and all, but we ain't gonna throw you to the zombies just cause you're a lil different."

"Y'not lyin', are ya?" Ellis asked in a soft voice. "Because that's real nasty if y'are, Coach."

"I ain't lying," Coach assured, putting his hands on Ellis' forearms. "We need you. I mean, with an aim like Nicholas', we won't last too long without you."

Nick couldn't find it in himself to sneer when Ellis chuckled, smiling with his all teeth and green eyes bright with mirth.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I was going to make this about ten times more sad, but I couldn't figure a way to add it in without making it too OOC and I just wanted to get this posted as soon as I could. I hope you guys like it as is!
> 
> Criticisms and the like are always appreciated!


End file.
